Black Wings
by Haladflire65
Summary: Roy Mustang is kidnapped by a mysterious syndicate and is shaped into a deadly assassin. And so begins his double life as a soldier and ‘ Raven’, as he is dubbed by his fearful targets and the public... Slight AU. T for violence, language and darkness.
1. “Oi, Featherheeeeeaaaaad!”

**Black Wings**

Roy Mustang is kidnapped by a mysterious syndicate and is shaped into a deadly assassin. And so begins his double life as a soldier and the assassin ' Raven', as he is dubbed by his fearful targets and the public... Slight AU. T for violence, language and darkness.

**Rating: **T. There's gonna be lots of profanity, as you can probably tell by the end of the first chapter. Also I'll throw out a warning for violence as there'll probably be quite a lot of it, too. Yes, this is an-assassin-killing-people kind of fanfiction. I'd love you to read and review this story but if you're bothered by this kind of stuff maybe you should reconsider going on.

**Notes**: This first chapter took unusually long for me to write… Yup, three whole weeks. I don't really know why, maybe it's because of how uncertain I was of how to start it. I played around with a few openings and settled on this one. Most of the story isn't developed yet, so expect updates to come quite slowly. Expect some edits. I just know that I want Roy to be a cold-hearted assassin working under an unknown syndicate - I got a lot of inspiration from the _Darker than Black_ series and also the _Bourne_ films. I hope you enjoy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go and try to finish my latest chapter of _**Exorcist**_, my other Mustang-centered FMA fanfic. :)

**Chapter One: _"Oi, Featherheeeeeaaaaad!"_**

_-Flash-forward-_

The overweight man dragged his fat body through the deserted street, leaving a trail of blood behind him. His name was Livingston. His heavy panting seemed to be the only sound in the world to him. His arm was covered in crimson, where the bullet had struck him. Less than ten minutes ago, his evening had been peaceful. It had been shattered in half a second when an unknown assailant suddenly shot at him.

There was a flash of black from nearby. The fat man froze, his breathing ragged. He swallowed, trembling hard. "W-who the hell are you?" His voice came out as a pathetic whisper. "What do you want from me?"

He wasn't expecting a reply. Livingston turned to run to safety, only to be brutally slammed into the damp brick wall he had been leaning against. He cried out, more in terror than in pain, as he felt the stranger's grip at the back of his neck.

"If you scream, I'll kill you." A harsh voice whispered into his ear.

"P-please – "

"Shut up." The hand took his head and turned it so that his face was no longer in the wall. Livingston shook with fear. It was a masked man, not large compared to his violent strength. There was no telling what sort of face might be under the mask, which was dark as the man's hair; it was smooth, black and featureless. Normally Livingston would have laughed at the silliness of the mask, but at the moment, he'd never seen anything more frightening.

"W-what do you want!" Livingston screamed. "D-don't kill m-me…"

"I told you to be quiet." The man with the mask hissed. "Do you know where General Jonathan Amsterdam lives?"

Livingston was confused. "What?"

"I asked where General Amsterdam lives!"

"I-I don't know – " The masked man gave him a jerk.

"Don't take me for a fool. I know that you two are good friends."

"What do you want with Jon?" Livingston whispered, sweat glistening on his face.

"He needs to die."

"No! I won't let you – I won't – "

"Shut upif you're not going to tell me." It was then Livingston noticed the sharp knife at his assailant's belt. He suddenly felt his heart begin to beat even faster than it was already doing. The masked man was reaching for it now; Livingston trembled. "I think you're better off talking than getting your throat slit. Even if you manage to get away, I know who you are." The man flicked out the blade with expertise and pointed it at Livingston's throat. Just as the point dug into his skin and began to draw blood –

"Oi, Featherheeeeeaaaaad!" There was a loud yell from behind. Livingston gaped when he saw the small blonde boy with braided hair come flying into the scene. The man with the mask snapped his head around, and his free arm shot up with incredible speed, blocking the boy's leaping kick. This gave Livingston the opportunity to break away and run for it. He heard the boy's voice encouraging him to go, and in a matter of minutes he could no longer make out his words. Livingston leaned against a wall, clutching his bleeding shoulder, and breathed deeply. He was safe, at least for now.

Back where Livingston had been threatened, Edward Elric assumed his best fighting stance as he surveyed his opponent.

"So, this is the famous Raven, eh?" Edward wiped the sweat from his cheek, deliberately exposing his automail arm. The masked man gave no sign of surprise; he was obviously a seasoned fighter – calm, collected, analyzing… Ed hadn't expected his signature flying kick to be blocked so easily.

Alphonse came pounding along on the sidewalk. "Brother! What's going on?"

"We've found our guy, Al," Ed said to the suit of armour. "It's the 'Raven'."

Al gasped. "This is him?"

"Yeah, sure is!" With a confident grin, Ed clapped his hands, and slammed them to the ground. There were blue sparks everywhere; huge spikes suddenly burst out from the cobbled stones. Again, with incredible reflexes, the man flung out what seemed like a rope or cable of some sort – somehow, he'd made it catch on a nearby street pole – before Ed could fully grasp what was happening, the man had swung through the air using the rope, effectively planting a kick in Edward's stomach on the way. Alphonse cried out as his brother went flying, landing with a painful _thud_ a few metres away. By the time Edward had gotten his bearings, Raven was gone, having left no trace of himself behind.

"Shit," Ed muttered as he got up, rubbing his sore stomach, "we let him get away, Al."

"I'm sorry, Brother – " Al began to say.

"Never mind," Edward shook his head, looking past Alphonse and into the dark streets. "We'll get him soon."

"What is that person?" Alphonse murmured. "Brother…"

For once, Ed didn't know what to say. He hadn't met an opponent like this in a long while. He flexed his automail fist. "I don't know, Al, I don't know…" He turned back to Alphonse, and grinned. "But I promise that we're gonna kick his ass."

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

_Four months ago_

"Wake up."

Roy Mustang replied with a groan. "Not now, Lieutenant... five more minutes..."

"_Now_, Mr. Mustang." Roy did not move. A moment later, he was jolted by a sharp kick to the side. He frowned in pain; his body still refused to move. He was so tired. Since when did Riza kick him awake? He should tell her off... Roy groaned again, only to receive another nasty blow, again to the ribs. He tried to pull himself upright, his eyes watering, only to find that he was tightly bound at the wrists and ankles. Suddenly his mouth had gone dry. His eyes snapped open.

"What... the hell...?" He was on a cold cement floor of a room he didn't recognize. In front of him was a person, who was wearing a plain white mask, concealing his face. He was dressed in completely black clothes that contrasted sharply with the mask.

"Please, Mr. Mustang, we'd like you to wake up when you're told." The figure said in a thin voice of authority, prodding at Roy with his foot again.

Mustang's initial shock and confusion had changed into a fierce anger. "What the hell are you doing to me? Where am I? Untie me right now!"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot do that unless you agree to cooperate with us."

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Cooperate with _whom_? You're wearing a mask the last time I checked!" Roy began to struggle against his bonds, only to feel how tight they were. The more he pulled, the more they cut into his wrists. He knew it was futile.

"I encourage you to be reasonable, Mr. Mustang – "

"That's _Colonel_ to you, bastard." Everything about that stupid person with the mask annoyed him.

"Here, none of you have ranks, Mr. Mustang. You are all equal under us."

Roy gritted his teeth. "What is this place? Who _are_ you? Who is 'us'?" He tried to think, to remember what he'd been doing the day before. He'd gone to work, gone home, gone to bed. It had been a perfectly normal day. But then, after that… it was just a white blank in his memory. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall anything.

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you much. Everything about our organization must be kept secret. Now, Mr. Mustang, do you wish to be sensible and cooperate with us?"

"I don't give a shit about this organization, and I don't see why I have to listen to you."

"Logical thinking."

"What?"

"It is the first thing you must learn if you wish to survive here. Please, Mustang, let's think this through together, shall we? You," the man said, again nudging Roy with his foot, "are immobilized, in an unknown environment, with no weapons of any kind, while I know exactly what is going on, as well as being armed." The man reached into his coat and casually drew out a gun. Roy felt cold. "Now, don't worry, because I won't shoot you just yet. But that's only if you decide to follow my orders."

"_Why_?" Roy hissed. "What do you want with me?"

"Several things. You'll find out soon enough, Mr. Mustang." He put the gun back underneath his jacket, but now Roy found that he couldn't take his eyes off of the spot. "Aren't you curious, now?"

"Yeah, but _why am I here_?"

"You have an excellent calculating mind, good physical qualities, experience in the field, and you are fearless when it comes to fighting. We chose you for many reasons. You will do well in our program."

Roy's head spun. "What are you talking about?" He felt like he no longer had any strength to be angry. What was this? What the _fuck_ was this? Some sort of messed-up military prank? What was going on? Had these people been stalking him for half his life?

"Please, Mr. Mustang, I'm the one asking questions."

Ignoring this, Roy said, rather faintly, "What do I have to do?"

"Follow orders. That is all."

There couldn't have been a less satisfactory answer. Mustang wanted to punch this man. He felt pathetic, lying on the floor like this. Follow orders? Who was mask-face trying to kid? As a military officer, Roy knew of all the terrible things he could be ordered to do by someone superior to him. He knew what it was like. He hated it. He absolutely hated it.

"What if I say no?"

"We must eliminate you, unfortunately. You have already seen and heard too much." _I haven't seen or heard a fucking thing, you bastard, _Roy thought viciously. He wasn't stupid enough to say so.

In the end, he only muttered, "Shit…"

"If you continue to be stubborn, we have no other way but to introduce you to our program the harder way. We'll give you time to think about it." He knelt down so that his face was close to Roy's. "Mr. Mustang, I advise you not to make any stupid decisions. If you change your mind, please do call for me without hesitation." Here, Roy was able to peer into those ominous eyeholes. Inside, he saw grey eyes that were as cold as ice. They were locked onto his own black ones, as if trying to scrutinize everything that lay within them.

"Who do I ask for?" Mustang said hoarsely, holding the gaze.

"Snake," The masked man whispered, and for a moment Mustang could have sworn that he'd just smiled behind his fake face. "ask for Snake."

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

Roy was again jolted awake in a very rude way. He was beaten into consciousness all of a sudden, clobbered by some unfriendly fists. Gasping, his eyes fluttered open; he was faced with another person in a mask, this time one that was grey with what seemed like a cat's face engraved on its surface. Frankly, it looked ridiculous, but Roy had no time to laugh at it. As the person tried to kick him Roy quickly managed to roll to one side; to his surprise he found that his hands and legs were free.

_What the hell is this?_ Even with this thought in his mind Mustang managed to duck from another blow; however, this cat-man was extremely fast. Mustang felt his legs getting swept out from under him as he fell, face-first to the floor, landing with a jarring thud. Giving him no time to even take a breath the cat-man drew out a long pole of some kind and dealt him another powerful hit to the abdomen.

Mustang gasped in pain, curling up around the spot; unfortunately that only left his back vulnerable to that stupid pole. He took more blows and he thought he felt something break, but he could do nothing, only shield his face and neck with his arms. Things became a little complicated when the pole was traded for a knife. When the white-hot pain tore down his shoulder, Roy, biting back a yell, kicked out and finally managed to catch his attacker unguarded. Adrenaline and the desire to stay alive fuelling his body, he sprang up to his feet and lunged at the cat-man. The knife came at him; he grabbed the wrist of the hand that was holding it and punched the man's stomach as hard as he possibly could. It probably hurt his knuckles just as much as it had hurt his opponent, but that was irrelevant. Cat-man made a choking sound and swung his knife again; Mustang felt his pocket for his alchemic gloves but found only his silver State Alchemist watch. Cursing, he whipped that out, blocking the sharp blade with the chain, stretched tight and taut. There was the screeching noise of metal grinding against metal – the chain broke, and Cat-man went reeling, as he had probably put his entire strength into that arm alone. Roy felled him with an elbow to the back of the head.

There was a nasty _crack_ when he hit the floor, then silence.

Mustang could hear nothing but his own panting. Grimacing, with his foot, he turned over the unconscious man. His mask had shattered from its impact with the hard cement. Surprisingly, the person was very young, probably no more than twenty-five years old. Perhaps even in his late teens. His chest heaving, Roy backed up against the wall, his hand holding his bleeding shoulder, and slid down into a sitting position. He couldn't tear his eyes from the boy's still form. What the heck was this? What kind of twisted game was this? Mustang tried to force himself to breathe normally but failed miserably; he was shaking and shivering as if he was ill. Red blood, bright red blood, stained his sleeve and the floor. Both his own and the boy's…

"Why…" Mustang leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. _This is a nightmare. This is all a stupid nightmare. I__'ll__ wake up, and I'll be back in Central, in my office, and Hawkeye's going to chide me for falling asleep instead of doing my paperwork… I'm going to wake up… I'm going to wake up… I'm waking up now… See?_

Ah, shit, he was still in this cement room, the unconscious boy in front of him, his arm throbbing, confused as ever. He was so _tired_. He wanted to go home. Heck, he wouldn't even mind paperwork… Anything would be better than this…

After a while Roy realized that he should probably do something about his shoulder, as it was still streaming blood. Wincing, he shrugged off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. He got it off, tore a strip of it off and fastened it around the wound, tying it tight with his teeth. It probably wasn't a serious injury… Probably.

When he looked up again, he found a sword pointed at his nose.

He yelped and dove to one side. The blade very nearly cut his face open; instead it on sliced off a bit of his hair. Mustang wasn't very surprised to see another masked person in front of him. This time it was a bright red one. Wiping the sweat from his cheek, Roy said,

"What is it with this place and masks? Is it some kind of fashion or something?"

Instead of answering, the man charged with the sword.

Mustang was ready, fists raised. But not really ready. Definitely not. "You are _fucking_ dead, mask-face," he whispered, feeling a whole lot less confident than he sounded.

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

When Snake returned, he found Mustang sitting among a pile of unconscious bodies, his shirt in tatters, streaks and smears of blood everywhere. He smiled behind his mask. "Did you call for me, Mr. Mustang?"

"Yeah, I did." His voice was hoarse. He had no idea how long he'd been confined in this room, random men and even a few women, all masked, coming in to kill him every half hour. Counting the bodies, that theoretically added up to four or five hours… But he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. He was _so tired_. He was tired of having to fight to stay alive, without knowing _why_. Perhaps that was the reason he'd stopped thinking altogether. The only thing that was obvious was that they wanted him to hurt others to survive…

"So? What is your conclusion?"

"That this is a really fucked-up place…" Roy staggered to his feet and stood straight, looking directly at Snake's eyeholes. "I thought you said that you'd give me time to think!"

"We did, Mr. Mustang."

"What?"

"We already did."

"But…" Roy's eyes widened in realization. "You mean…"

"Yes. We couldn't let you wait here forever while you ponder your answer, so we gave you some entertainment and a motive to call for me sooner than later. We never predicted that it would take ten trainees before you made up your mind."

"Bastards…" Mustang whispered, and closed his eyes for a moment, calming his breathing again. _Trainees?_ He wanted to ask, but instead, he said, "If I say no, you said you'll kill me, right?"

Again, there was that infuriating smile in his voice. "I see you remember that part very well."

Roy's voice was flat and toneless. "I brawled with ten people in the past five hours and I'm still in one piece. You know what? I don't think I want to die after all this shit. I have things left to do. I'm not gonna have my brains blown out in a smelly little cement room."

"I'll take that as a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes, bastard," Roy attempted to snap with some kind of ferocity, but he just had no more energy left. "I'll do whatever you want… just let me out of here."

"It looks like we've finally managed to get some sense into your brain, Mr. Mustang. Follow me." The door was opened. _Freedom_, thought Roy. _Or was it?_

He managed five steps before his legs finally gave way under him. Half a day of fighting without food or water had taken its toll. He collapsed on the spot. Snake turned as if he had been expecting this to happen, and removed his mask, leaving it dangling around his neck. He was a middle-aged man with angular features, cropped brown hair and steely eyes.

Snake bent down, picked up Mustang and slung him around his shoulders as if he were only a child. "We've got us an interesting one, Boss," he chuckled to himself.

**TBC**

**Reviews anyone? Thanks for reading this far!**


	2. Training Days

**Notes: **I enjoyed writing this chapter; I also took a while to do it :p I was inspired mostly by _Phantom ~Requiem of the Phantom~_ when I was doing the training scenes, but I'm pretty sure this isn't a ripoff of that show or anything. I'm trying my best to be original here. I'll assure you that the story's gonna pick up after another chapter or so, so please do stay tuned. Thanks for being so patient, everyone, and a special thanks to **BlackLioness**, **XxForest-DragonxX** and **theflamefangirl** for reviewing :) you guys (and gals) really made my day!

Aaanyways, here's the chapter (finally). So enjoy.

**Chapter Two****: Training Days**

When Roy opened his eyes he found himself lying in a hard cot of some sort. He groaned and turned to his side; his entire body ached like _shit_. He attempted to sit up, and managed to do so with nothing more than a small gasp. He looked down at himself. Whoever locked him up here sure didn't give a damn about his well-being. They hadn't even given him proper bandages, clothes, or anything to clean up with, for the matter. And he was an incredible mess. He was covered in bruises, cuts and blood – mostly his enemies'. It made him feel sick. It made him recall the hellhole that was Ishval…

…it seemed as though they'd just thrown him into this cot and left him here….

"Jeez…" Roy winced. "Bastards…" he muttered, twisting around to see his aching shoulder. A strange, humourless grin pulling at the corner of his lips, he stared at the caked blood that was there for a few seconds. Then, he put his face in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. _This is a dream, this is all a dream_…

_Quit telling yourself that. It's idiotic_. Roy was angry at himself for acting like such a weakling. He kept on telling himself to get a grip, to think of a way to escape… To outwit his captors… His normally quick brain refused to work properly. He couldn't think; he realized that he was floundering in plain fear, confusion and despair. All the awful events of the last time he was awake came back to him, making his heart beat fast again. His head pounded. Massaging his temples with his fingertips, he furrowed his brow and tried to formulate some kind of plan. Any plan. He could come up with nothing, because he _had_ nothing. His uniform's jacket was long gone, which meant he no longer had access to the useful things he kept in his breast pocket… He felt his pants for any kind of tool, anything – his fingers met cold metal. His brief hope was extinguished when he pulled out his State Alchemist watch. He wondered how it had ended back up in his pocket when he distinctly remembered using it against a knife – its chain was broken, and when Roy opened it, he saw that there was a long crack running down its face. It still ticked.

As he was staring at it, remembering life when he'd actually known _some_ things that were going on around him, he heard a knocking on the metal door of his tiny room.

For a moment Mustang wondered whether he should go open it or not. Not feeling like getting up to open the door for someone who had him imprisoned without explanation, he decided not to. As he had expected, the person came in anyways.

Roy narrowed his eyes. It was the white-masked man again. What was his name? Right. Snake. He snorted inwardly. What was this place, some kind of costume party? What was with all those stupid masks and animal names?

"Good afternoon, Mr. Mustang," Snake said in what Mustang supposed was a cheery tone. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell," Roy spat. He had no intention of talking with this bastard. But of course, like everything that had happened in the last few hours or days, nothing seemed to go his way. It was then Mustang saw that Snake was carrying something. He merely glanced at it, not really interested. But when he realized that it was some kind of edible object his stomach began to growl. When was the last time he'd eaten? He was so hungry he felt sick.

Almost mockingly, as if hearing Mustang's guts, Snake said, "I brought you a meal."

Wordlessly Roy accepted the small tray of food, ignoring his pride for the time being. Everything on the plate was bland and almost tasteless – he could barely tell whether it was meat, fish or something else – nevertheless, he wolfed it all down like a starving animal. A cup of water was presented to him by Snake after he'd finished; he took it and drowned it all in one go.

Mustang felt good for about two minutes.

He should have known that it was a foolish thing to do, to stuff his face with food on a completely empty stomach. He was _such an idiot_. The food threatened to come back up; he did everything he could to hold it all in. He wasn't going to vomit in front of Snake. He wanted to keep the little pride he had left.

Again, Snake seemed to be reading all the thoughts that were running through Mustang's head. "The restroom is right behind you, if you wish to use it."

Roy glared up at him and spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm fine."

Snake shrugged. "If you say so." He turned, presumably to leave. "I'll come back for you in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, change and wash up," he motioned to the small bundle at the foot of the bed, "because I'll be taking you to your first training session."

_Training session?_ Roy almost groaned aloud. He would have if he was back in his office at Central. "What?"

"We're going to have some fun, Mr. Mustang," Snake replied as he exited the room.

As soon as he left, Roy yanked open the washroom door, lunged for the toilet, despite the protests of his aching body, and threw up.

_This is just getting better and better_.

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

_Two hundred, two hundred and one, two hundred and two_… As if to keep in rhythm with Mustang's counting, sweat steadily dripped down from his nose and to the floor. His black, sleeveless shirt and equally featureless dark pants were damp with precipitation. He found himself desperately wishing that he had automail arms like Edward Elric. Then his arms wouldn't be screaming at him like they were doing now, after doing what was supposed to be a measly two hundred push-ups. How many did he have left?

"Two hundred and ninety-seven to go." There was a voice behind him – it was apparently his supervisor, another man in another infuriating mask.

Mustang wanted to die. His arms were killing him.

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

It had been a while since Roy had properly used firearms. He'd relied far too heavily on his spark cloth gloves for the longest time… They were making him shoot at a cardboard target shaped like the silhouette of a person. _Bam_. A hole was blown in its shoulder; that was pathetic, especially when his most trusted subordinate was probably the best sniper in Amestris. _Bam_. A large section of the throat splintered. _Bam_. Right in the middle of the face. Mustang felt that his heart was beating oddly fast as he reloaded his pistol at the command of another masked supervisor. Those shots ringing in his head were just like the ones from Ishval… he hated the sound of gunfire. He absolutely hated it. Yet he was being made to train with guns for a reason he didn't yet understand.

He no longer felt like thinking about anything. As he steadily emptied more and more rounds of ammo, it was as if the shots were the only sound in the world. The shots and the metallic _clinks_ of the shells. Mustang found that his mind was completely empty, as empty as the shells that fell from his gun. Why were there no thoughts in his head, none at all? It should have frightened him, how his normally rather inquisitive and nimble mind wasn't demanding for him to figure things out. He was so tired, he no longer cared. After those endless amounts of push-ups, sit-ups, chin-ups, laps around the barren lot outside, and lengths in the pool, he was more exhausted than he'd ever been.

Mustang wasn't even wondering where he was any more. He didn't find the large facility he was locked up in intriguing at all; he no longer noticed that everyone he'd encountered were wearing masks – he didn't notice anything. He felt like a zombie, just being ordered around, being pushed to his physical limits by people he didn't even know. He followed their every command because he knew that if he did otherwise, they'd kill him immediately. They all had guns, knives and other weapons he didn't recognize at their belts – as if they were daring him to disobey. They had no need to do that. Roy didn't feel like rebelling like he would have if he was back in Central.

He just fired one round after another, as they'd told him to do. _Bam_. _Bam_. _Bam_.

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

The next few days seemed to all blend together. They were just an endless string of a dozen different so-called exercises. With his silver watch, the only link he had with the outside world left, Roy was able to tell that they gave him five hours of sleep each day. They provided him with the same meal in the morning, afternoon and dinner – just enough to keep him going. They bombarded him with drills that sometimes pushed him to the brink of collapse. Of course, Mustang didn't dare give up. He hated being weak. And who knew what sort of punishment might be dealt to him? He didn't want to find out. He completed all his ordeals with no incident.

As the week – or was it weeks? – wore on Roy was able to feel the physical changes that had come over him. Most of the exercises that he remembered half-killed him in the beginning were now not difficult at all. Was it possible for him to get this much stronger so quickly? Perhaps it wasn't such an odd thing. At the rate they'd been working him, Mustang would have been only mildly surprised if he became as muscled as Alex Louis Armstrong in a month.

Roy wasn't exactly sure exactly at what point his captors began to teach him how to fight – with his bare hands and feet, with knives, with strange, cable-like ropes, with clubs, with swords… They taught him to turn every part of him into a weapon, and they taught him how to use probably every kind of weapon that existed in the world. He learned how to destroy his enemies in the fastest way possible. He sparred with more masked people, which he now knew were other trainees. Mustang, as he was never a hand-to-hand combatant, often lost, which meant that he was beaten half to death by whatever weapon they happened to be using. This stung his pride more than anything. Lying there, bruised, half-conscious, trying to focus on his assailant's feet… No. He didn't like that at all. Roy wasn't exactly sure where all his energy came from, but he began to fight back with fury, wanting to knock down whoever stood in front of him. Surprisingly enough, gradually, over the course of several training sessions, he started to win. He noticed that his opponents got increasingly hard to fell, but some unknown force within him carried him through his battles. His supervisors taught him more and more useful tricks and techniques. It was strange indeed, considering that Roy had yet to know what he was fighting for, _why_ he was fighting. It no longer mattered. Nothing really mattered, except for defeating the randomly placed, masked people that were presented to him. He'd stopped thinking a long while ago.

Today he was given a wooden stave to wield; the man in front of him was much larger than him, muscular and heavyset. As usual Ro y looked to his mask to identify the person. He'd learned over time that each trainee had a different mask; no two were the same. They were usually animal masks. This one was shaped like a lion or some other wild beast. It was someone he'd never fought before. A strange tingling ran through his body – anticipation and adrenaline.

"Two minutes." The supervisor's familiar monotone made Mustang spring into movement. Two minutes to make Lion-face fall. Two minutes… it should be more than enough.

The man was much faster than he looked. This, Roy had been expecting. He parried the first furious blow that landed, swept it aside, and swiftly swung his stave inwards, going for the man's gut. It struck home, and there was a choking sound from behind the expressionless mask. However lion-face managed to strike his weapon at Mustang's legs, catching him off balance and sweeping his feet out from under him; instead of falling, Roy lurched into a backflip, and using his free hand as a stabilizer, he landed back on both feet. The man was starting to come at him again, waving his stave. _What an idiot_. Without giving his opponent a single moment to regain the upper hand, he twisted around into a roundhouse kick, his stave serving as a pivot. His boot smashed into lion-face's masked head. There was a nasty cracking noise as the mask shattered at the impact, and the man fell backward, reeling from the blow. Using the momentum left over from his kick Mustang swung his stave once again, managing to hit the side of the man's head again before he hit the ground. Roy found his own new acrobatic abilities surprising at times.

He was watching his defeated opponent fly a few feet to one side from the sheer force of his beating when he heard a slow, deliberate clapping from behind him. He whirled around, stave at the ready, the sweat drenching his neck, ready to attack if provoked. His supervisor was gone. In his place was someone else. He immediately recognized Snake's white, featureless mask right away. What the hell was _he_ doing here?

Mustang hadn't seen Snake for a long time. The white-masked, grey-eyed man hadn't shown up once in all of Roy's training sessions. Roy hadn't thought much about it – why should he? All that man had done was given him food on his first day. But he found it odd that he was seeing him again. He never saw the same supervisor twice. They didn't seem to give a damn about him and he didn't care about them, either…

"You've improved greatly, Mr. Mustang," Snake said. "I've been watching you."

"What are you doing here?" It felt odd to be speaking again after all those days of hard work in silence. His voice sounded hoarse, even to himself, from lack of use.

"Now, let's not be too rude, shall we." Snake came forward slowly, as if scrutinizing Mustang as he did so. "I think you're ready for your next stage in training."

Roy almost snorted as he flung his stave down to the ground. "You mean I'm _still_ not done? How long are you planning to keep me for? I'll have a lot of paperwork to do when I get back to work." He tried to ignore the awful ache in his heart when he said that. He missed Central and his ordinary life so bitterly that none of it felt real anymore, just like everything else that had melted away with this nameless facility and dozens of masks.

"Ah, don't worry, you're going to be leaving us soon."

"Soon?" Mustang's eyes narrowed. He didn't even want to ask when 'soon' was.

"Yes, but you'll be working for us – with us – all the same."

He hated Snake's calm, matter-of-fact tone. He hated everything about the bastard. He hated all this. He felt like beating the shit out of that stupid masked man. Through gritted teeth, he demanded, "What do you mean by that? I'm going to go home and I'm going to live like a normal person should! I have things left to do! Let me go! _What the fuck do you want with me?_"

"So many questions, Mr. Mustang. Please be patient. They'll all be answered in time." Snake seemed to check his watch. Did the people here even have such things? "Your day is over for today. Go back to your room and get some rest. You have a hard day ahead of you." Looking towards lion-face, he said, "We'll take care of the mess."

_You gotta be kidding me. Every day's the same. What are you talking about?_

Snake turned and walked off in his usual collected manner, leaving Roy, shaking with frustration, alone with his bloodied, unconscious opponent.

But why, oh why, couldn't he even think of rebelling?

He had no idea. But there was something, some unknown force that was holding him back from breaking out of this madhouse.

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

As Roy was stripping off his filthy shirt and washing it in the sink of his room, he took a glance in the mirror. How long had it been since he'd looked at himself? Had his face changed at all? Mustang couldn't really tell. It was his own face, after all. But even he could see that he'd gained a considerable amount of muscle in the chest and arms. There was no doubting it. They'd been working him so hard…

His eyes followed his neckline down to his left shoulder. He'd done his best to look after the long gash cat-man's knife had torn down its length on his first day; but without proper medication and doctors, he had been unable to rid himself of the knotted scar tissue that had formed there. It was only one among the dozens of cuts and bruises he had acquired in this place. It made Mustang angry. He wished that his captors would at least get him a nurse (who didn't have to be young or pretty, of course…) to make sure he didn't suddenly fall apart. There had been times where he was sure that he would. The only thing provided for him here was food, clothes and a room. Nothing else. He needed to learn to survive pretty much on his own.

Meanwhile, not too far away, an unmasked Snake was speaking with a tall, dark man in what seemed like an empty conference room of some sort. Seated at the head of the table, the stranger was scarred and intimidating, with a large cigar between his teeth, of which one was gold. Strangely enough he was wearing a crisp suit of the highest quality. "How's Mustang coming along?" He had a rough voice.

"Very well, sir. As a matter of fact, he seems to be exceeding our previous candidate in every field so far. He is a truly excellent specimen." Was that a touch of pride in Snake's voice? His silver eyes gave nothing away.

"Good, good. How much longer will he take?"

"It's only been three and a half weeks, sir."

"I know that, you fool," the stranger snapped. "I'm asking you, how much longer will he take?"

"I estimate that he will be ready in a month or two's time." Snake seemed unfazed by the larger man's short temper. "He's a fast learner."

"I want you to do a good job with him, Anderson," the stranger exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"It's Snake, sir." Snake cut in with the smallest hint of annoyance in his tone.

The other man ignored him. "This time we'll succeed."

Sighing, Snake said, "Yes, sir. We'll be able to exploit Mustang's position in the Amestris military. It won't be difficult for a man like him."

"I'm entrusting you with our future, Anderson." The man's icy blue eyes bored into Snake.

"I understand, sir. This time we shall be the victors, and Amestris will be freed from its bonds."

The man just smirked and snorted. "Don't be overdramatic, Anderson. You're dismissed. Work with Mustang from tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." Snake bowed, and exited the room. "And I told you that it's Snake, not Anderson."

"Don't be an idiot. I know your name and I'll call you whatever I want."

**TBC.**

**Reviews will be greatly appreciated!**


	3. Like Ice

**Notes: **Thanks for reviewing, **Horselvr4evr123**, **soulcorsOnManga**, **theflamefangirl** and **XxForest-DragonxX**!:D I'm glad most of you are liking it so far, considering, like Forest-Dragon said, it's pretty intense. I found it funny that if this is like Assassin's Creed because I've never played the game before! :p

This chapter came out a lot faster because I'm stuck with no Internet this long weekend. I felt so cruel writing this. Poor Roy. The good news is, we're almost done with this first segment of the story. I hope you enjoy (sort of) the last bit of our Colonel's stay at the facility. (even though I have to admit, reading about people suffering isn't really that fun… unless you're like me. Muahahaha!)

So here we go.

**Chapter Three****: Like Ice**

Two months. Two months had passed since he was thrown into this place. Mustang had drawn ticks on the wall of his room starting from his second week. He hadn't noticed how quickly they accumulated, how they doubled and then tripled in number. The days he spent with Snake seemed much shorter than the one he'd passed doing the same workout routines… Impossibly, his old life in Central had begun to fade from his memory as if it was a part of a faraway dream. It was something from another life, another world. He occasionally had dreams where he could have sworn he'd heard Hawkeye telling him to wake up. But even those became less and less frequent… It was impressive how effective gruelling daily routines were at brainwashing. Somehow they took away the ache he felt for home, for his work, for his subordinates. He no longer felt much. He didn't even feel any kind of urge to escape or get out. Roy had given up all hope of running away a long time ago. He'd never tried but he somehow knew that resistance to his captors was futile.

Meanwhile he continued training for his unknown purpose. Frankly, he still had no idea why he was going through all this. Several times, he'd half-heartedly asked Snake about the subject, not expecting any straight answers and not getting any. Anyway, he was rather busy with the various tasks he was given every day. Mustang had to admit that his lessons were becoming more and more interesting. They were of great variety, like scaling walls and buildings, managing vicious guard dogs, and even things like lip reading or changing gaits.

Today he'd been continuing to learn how to fight in complete darkness. It had started with exercises like aiming in the general direction of his opponent, simply by listening and feeling. They also taught him to memorize his surroundings as well as possible. At first, Mustang had thought it was quite impossible. It had taken him ages to connect with his targets. He struggled to tell apart the sound of his own breathing and others'. It was so difficult. However, under Snake's skilled instruction, he improved quickly. His eyes adjusted to the dark faster than it used to, almost developing a photogenic memory for its surroundings; his ears were able to tune into small noises like breathing or the rustling of clothes. He could feel the presence of someone else in the dark room with him. In no time he was sparring with other trainees in pitch blackness, although with less comfort than someone like Snake.

Over the course of the two months, Roy had gained an incredible amount of knowledge, but he was yet to learn anything about his mentor, Snake. It was obvious that the white-masked man was something like his private tutor. They spent many hours a day together and Roy probably knew Snake's eyes and voice better than anyone, but he had still never seen the other man's face under that mask. Like everything else, however, Mustang didn't think much of it. He'd also noticed that he seemed to be one of the very few humans in the facility that had a naked face. All those masked people no longer made him curious, for it was such a commonplace thing.

Snake was a good teacher. He was patient and wise, although he was sometimes quite mocking. Surprisingly, he also seemed had a sharp sense of humour, unlike the monotone personalities of everyone else in the facility. His sarcastic comments were often enough to give Mustang another burst of energy to finish whatever he had been ordered to do. From his daily sessions, Mustang could tell that Snake was a middle-aged man, who was also definitely a seasoned combatant and an expert on generally everything there was to know. Perhaps he'd been a soldier or something of the sort? Gradually Roy developed what was rather like a grudging respect for his mysterious mentor.

More days passed. Roy Mustang had been transformed into a completely different person. The youthful, boyish energy in his face was gone. He was a lean and muscular predator, always alert; his fierce black eyes could probably stare down a tiger. But those black orbs were emotionless and hollow otherwise. He'd become a dog of his captors, wordlessly and thoughtlessly following their every order. He could probably take more physical punishment than anyone else in this world. However Roy had no idea they had more in store for him.

When no one came to fetch him in the morning like always, Mustang could immediately sense that something different was going to happen this day. He waited patiently, sitting cross-legged on the floor, meditating like he often did with Snake. On a stool beside him was his battered and tarnished State Alchemist watch, its battery long dead. It was his painful and only reminder of who he was, of who he used to be…

There was a knocking at his door. He opened one of his closed eyes. "Come in."

Surprisingly, it was not a masked person. In fact, it was a perfectly normal-looking blonde boy who must have been not much older than Edward Elric. He even looked like he'd have emotions…. Strange. Mustang raised an eyebrow. "Snake wants you." How thin the kid's voice sounded compared to the supervisors he was used to hearing.

"Why? He could've come himself."

"I don't know. He wants you." The boy sounded nervous. Was that a bad sign? Roy didn't know.

"Fine." He got to his feet. He was in his black sleeveless shirt and pants, the same uniform he'd been wearing for the past few months. "Well, lead the way."

The boy led him through some hallways and rooms, all places Roy had been through before. But they rounded a corner, bringing Roy to a refreshingly new door, one that looked oddly like the entrance of his own office in Central. Damn it. _Stop feeling. Stop feeling_.

The boy knocked on the door, twice. "It's open," came the reply, which Mustang recognized as a new voice that was not Snake, but it didn't have the flatness of a supervisor, either. The boy opened the door for him, and he went inside. It was a room that contained a large rectangular table. Seated there was Snake, and at the head of the table was a maskless stranger.

Mustang had been taught to make analyzing people a habit. He looked at the stranger's face and posture, immediately starting to collect information. He was a pale-haired man with a strong jawline. Despite his hair colour Roy could tell that he wasn't very old at all, no more than thirty-five. He had dark glasses, a scarred face and a large cigar. The glasses – perhaps he didn't desire to have his expression read? The scars showed experience in battle or some kind of dangerous business; the cigar obviously meant that he was wealthy to some extent and held a position of power. That expensive-looking suit that he was wearing indicated the same thing… The man looked physically strong also, seeing his size and build…

"Ah, I'm very pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Mustang!" The man rose and held out his hand. Roy shook it mechanically. Snake hadn't moved; he was just looking in his pupil's direction with those iron eyes of his.

"And who may you be, sir?" Roy inquired. In truth, he was actually curious. He somehow figured that he should be respectful to the man. Along with the boy who had come for him, this man's face was the only one he'd seen since he was brought here.

"Forgive my horrible manners. I am Tyson MacDougall. Anderson over there works for me." _Anderson?_ It only took a moment for Roy to realize who this MacDougall character meant. If Snake worked under this man, did that mean that MacDougall was the man in charge of the entire facility? It was perfectly possible… he certainly did look wealthy enough to run a place like this… But strangely, MacDougall had a friendly way of talking, despite his rough voice and exterior. He was almost normal. Except for the fact that his face hardly moved when he was speaking – Roy wasn't sure whether it was the sunglasses or something else, but his expression was impossible to read. He couldn't tell whether MacDougall was acting or not.

"It's Snake, sir, not Anderson," came Snake's rather bored voice.

Ignoring this, MacDougall continued. "How have the past months been for you, Mr. Mustang?"

It was the stupidest question that could possibly be asked. Instead of saying so, Roy replied simply, "Fine, sir."

"Good, good. I'm glad our program hasn't been too hard on you, like for many other men, who… we have discharged." Knowing this place, that probably meant that they'd been killed. Probably. "Anyways, since we don't have much time on our hands, why don't we just get straight to the point. You must be wondering why I called you here today, Mr. Mustang. The reason is because I'm highly pleased with your progress. You've vastly improved on all aspects from the time you first arrived here. Anderson and I believe you're ready for the next stage of the program. We're going to have you working in the field soon."

"In the field, sir?" Why did Mustang feel a strange sense of foreboding when he heard that?

"Yes, Mr. Mustang. But before that you'll have to pass a small test of courage and strength. Please follow me. You as well, Anderson." MacDougall waved a hand, motioning for them to follow. Roy, with a glance at Snake, did as he was told.

They went through several familiar halls before reaching their destination, which Roy recognized as a room he'd been in before. For a moment he strained to remember; he then realized that it was where he'd first been trained to use pistols and rifles. The battered targets were still there in the shooting range. They hadn't been switched since Roy had used it… There were holes in the exact places he remembered putting bullets in. Roy automatically swept his eyes across the room, picking up any details that might be significant. He didn't need to look far. In the opposite end of the room, he saw a forlorn heap that he recognized to be a bound person. His eyes narrowed at it. He was liking this situation less and less; he stole a glance at MacDougall and Snake.

"What is this, sir?"

Before MacDougall said anything, Snake commanded, nodding towards a nearby table, "Pick a weapon. We don't have time."

Mustang looked to the indicated table. On it were a few combat knives, two pistols, a sword and a cable - the kind he'd grown quite fond of when fighting - but what were these for? What did they want him to do now? He was growing increasingly uneasy. This didn't look good at all. Hesitating only briefly, Roy reached down and took up one of the guns. It felt heavy and firm in his hand, and also, very cold.

"Now, come over here." Snake and MacDougall went to the corner, to the man on the floor. Mustang followed them. Snake bent down and undid the man's bonds; the man lifted his shaggy brown head, revealing a gaunt face and wild blue eyes. For some reason, Roy's stomach tightened unpleasantly when their eyes locked for a moment. It was as if… the man was full of hatred towards him. It was odd, since Roy was quite sure that they hadn't met before…

"What is this?" Roy repeated, a steely note having entered his voice.

"Kill this man." Snake said bluntly.

Awfully enough, Roy had to admit that this didn't surprise him all too much. Roy stared at the pistol in his hand for a moment, then at the person he had just been ordered to murder. He took a step back and shook his head. "No," he said quietly, his lips barely moving. "I won't do it."

Snake, in his usual laid-back manner, jut sighed, while MacDougall simply seemed interested. "Now, now, Mr. Mustang," Snake was speaking to Roy as if he was a misbehaving child. It was quite infuriating. "I've already let you know that we're running short on time."

"I'm not going to do it!" Roy's voice rose. Vaguely he saw that the previously bound man was now on his feet, tall and lanky. Mustang saw the anger in those blue eyes, just like in the crimson eyes of the countless Ishvalans he'd killed in the war. It was exactly the same. He didn't want to do this again. God, no, not this again… No… Roy's stomach was churning.

The man wasn't moving. Just waiting, never taking his eyes off of Roy.

"I've always noticed that stubbornness in you, Mr. Mustang…" Snake sounded disappointed. "Always doing things the hard way, aren't you?" He reached into his pocket and drew something out of it. Roy saw that it was a small and square piece of paper – a photograph. Roy's eyes widened when he saw the person in it.

"You_ bastard!_"

"I thought we should let you know that we do know many things about you, Mr. Mustang. We've been watching you for a while. Yes, we are even aware of your beautiful second-in-command, Risa Hawkeye -"

"_Her name is Riza!_" Mustang roared, losing his temper for the first time in weeks. He felt himself trembling from fury like a leaf in the wind. "Don't you lay a hand on her! _Don't you lay a hand on her!_" How the hell did they find out about Riza? Did that mean that they knew his entire squad? Havoc, Falman, Breda and Fuery? Roy hadn't felt this much fear in such a long time.

"It's not hard to pull the trigger, Mustang," MacDougall said, rather unhelpfully. "You've _burned_ innocents to death before. Why so reluctant?"

Roy's gun hand was shaking hard. If he didn't obey this time, it might cost him his own life, as well as his subordinates… It was obvious that only death would be the penalty. He couldn't let that happen… There was no way out of this situation, no way out…

Even better, the man was now charging towards him with an ugly knife in his hands. That didn't give Mustang much of a choice. How the hell did that happen?

_Shoot or die. Shoot or die_.

His breathing was coming in short gasps. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, almost suffocating him. He was hearing the cries and curses of his Ishvalan victims ringing in his ears. He'd sworn to himself that he'd never do this again… he'd sworn... He'd promised himself that he would get to a position where he didn't need to follow stupid orders. He'd failed pretty badly.

Barely aware of Snake and MacDougall watching him like a lab rat, at the last possible moment, Roy shut his eyes and squeezed the trigger. At this range he couldn't miss. The man's scream etched itself into his memory.

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

Every day, they made him kill someone.

It was as if they were training him for something. At first Roy couldn't figure out what it was. Every day, they brought him to random people that were obviously prisoners or something of the sort; and every day, they forced Mustang to pull the trigger. He was murdering someone _every day_. It was a thought Roy couldn't wrap his head around. It couldn't be real. But it was. He was actually doing it. He was being blackmailed and threatened, but he _was_ doing it. Around the tenth person he had to shoot through the head, he stopped feeling. He'd somehow muted the voices he heard inside him. Somehow he pretended not to see the raw fear and hate in his victim's eyes… For the first time Mustang realized how cruel his captors were. This was worse than anything else they'd put him through so far. They were teaching him not to feel. They were teaching him how to replace his heart with a lump of cold ice.

Roy spent most of his days in a trancelike state. He wasn't exactly sure when they'd called for him again. This time it was only him and MacDougall in the conference room, where they had met for the first time.

"We believe you're ready." It was the first thing that MacDougall said when he opened his mouth. Mustang said nothing; he continued to have his eyes fixed on the white-haired man. "We're going to let you out. You'll be working in the field."

Roy wasn't sure what to say to that. They were letting him out? There was bound to be a catch. _Here it comes_, he though as MacDougall breathed in to speak again.

"You are going to be our top assassin."

Just like that. Like a punch to the stomach. Roy choked. "You've got to be kidding me."

"It'll be a difficult life. During the day you'll be Colonel Roy Mustang, working in his office in Central –"

"I've been gone for _three months_. You think no one would have noticed?"

"We've taken care of everything. For the past three months, you were on a diplomatic mission in Drachma. Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye has taken over your duties for the time being; you are scheduled to return the day after tomorrow." MacDougall explained a matter-of-factly. Mustang closed his eyes for a moment. Everything had been planned… It had all been planned… "As I was saying, you will be living your ordinary life during the day. In the evenings, we will present you with a target. You will hunt him down and exterminate him."

Mustang attempted to digest this new information. "But why? What's the point of all this? Are you another crime lord wanting to be at the top of the underworld or something?"

For the first time, disgust showed up on MacDougall's face. "Don't insult me, Mr. Mustang. My syndicate's motives are simple. We wish to undermine the Bradley government."

Of all the things Roy had expected to hear… This was definitely not one of them "_What?_"

"By killing off his top officers, one by one, we will gradually render the Furher helpless. After weakening his rule over Amestris, our final task would be to kill Bradley himself, of course. That will be your mission. You will be going after all of his generals, as well, of course. When it's all over, Amestris will be freed from its tyrant."

"Are you crazy? You think an endeavour like this'll actually work?"

"We've come close before. However most of our previous assassins have been… eliminated on the job."

"Why are you telling me that? Do you think that'll actually change my mind?" It nearly made him laugh.

"Well, we chose you because we knew of your ambitions for bringing down Bradley. Yes, we have knowledge of your goal of becoming Furher, Mr. Mustang, and we also know of your hate for Bradley. We assumed that you would be the perfect man for our syndicate."

"…how? How did you find out about everything?"

"We have our sources."

Mustang, still unmoving, sank into a long silence. He finally said, "That criminal the police was after last year – the one that exclusively killed people in the government. He was one of yours?"

"You're just as sharp as I've been told. Yes. His codename was Raven. He died on his ninth mission."

"Raven?" What was it about the word that made Mustang want to taste it on his own tongue?

"I'm glad you like the name, because at nights, it'll be yours from now on." MacDougall handed something to Roy, who accepted it automatically. It was a featureless mask with a long slit for a mouth, quite similar to Snake's, except that it was a pure black instead of white. There were several gashes and dents on its surface. Running his fingers over them, Mustang figured that he wasn't the mask's first owner.

As if reading his thoughts, MacDougall added, "That belonged to the previous Raven and several others before him."

Roy looked back p at him. "And you're saying that if I agree on this, I'll be able to leave this godforsaken place? I'll be able to live my life again?"

MacDougall corrected him. "Half your life, Mr. Mustang."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I suppose we'll keep you here until you change your mind," MacDougall shrugged.

There was no other thought in Roy's head_. I just want to get out of here. I'll do anything to get out. Let's just do as they say… we're aiming for the same goal, anyways… What's the big deal? _The big deal was that he was going to have to take the part of an outlaw, a murderer, for half of his days. But he wasn't thinking of that. It didn't really matter to him right now. He just wanted to see his subordinates again. Hell, he even wanted to see that brat Fullmetal…

"So, what do you say, Mr. Mustang?"

It seemed like ages before Roy could finally bring himself to speak. His tongue felt so heavy. "I'm going do it." He took another deep breath, and repeated, "I'll do it."

**TBC. Reviews please!**


	4. Homecoming and Lies

**Notes**: Here's Chapter Four. I don't really have much to comment about it; go ahead and read on :)

Thanks for reviewing,** BlackLioness **and **soulcorsOnManga. **Extra cookies for** Lioness** for your very great comments XD

**Chapter Four: ****Homecoming and Lies**

Riza Hawkeye glanced at the clock, anxiety and impatience mixed in her face. Seven forty-eight. There was only twelve minutes until Colonel Mustang was supposed to return to his normal spot at his desk. The three months she had to spend without him seemed to have passed agonizingly slowly. It wasn't just the difficultly of being in charge of four misbehaving men, although she did feel the heavy weight of responsibility on her shoulders. She simply missed her commander. It wasn't like him to leave so suddenly without notice, but she trusted that he had a good reason to do so. As the weeks passed, a voice kept on telling her that it was odd how long he'd been gone for. It had been a while since he'd left Central for more than a week… And Drachma wasn't exactly the nicest place to visit right now, with its turbulent situation…

She sat in Roy's seat with her chin propped up in her hand, staring at the closed door for what felt like an eternity. One by one, the others arrived – Fuery first as usual, then Falman, then Havoc and Breda. _Five minutes_. There was a visible tension in the room; even the men weren't saying much. At last, just when Riza felt that she couldn't stand it anymore, there was a soft knock on the door. Everyone jumped; Fuery scurried to the door and yanked it open.

"Colonel!" The young bespectacled man squeaked, snapping into a salute. Havoc and Breda broke into huge grins and let out a cheer. Falman simply dropped the large book he had been reading while Riza jumped out of her chair.

"Hey, how's everyone?" Roy had that familiar smirk on his face. "Long time no see."

"Sir!" Riza saluted as he came over. "I've been looking after your duties – the documents are all in the drawers, and the reports are filed away – "

"I see you've kept everything under control while I was away, Lieutenant," he interrupted her with another twitching of the corner of his lips, "and I should thank you for that."

"It is only my duty, Colonel." Riza decided to ignore the mockery for now. She had missed him dearly. But of course, she had no idea how badly Roy wanted to take her and the others up in a giant bear hug. There were days that he'd thought that he would never see their faces again. His heart was full to the brim with pure joy, and he had to make an effort to make it a little less obvious. But they'd taught him things like that at the facility – keeping emotions hidden was a basic part of the training. Roy hoped he didn't have the expression of a little boy on his birthday, opening presents. He didn't.

Riza, not knowing the thoughts that were running through his head, scrutinized Roy carefully. She couldn't quite say exactly what it was, but it seemed like he'd changed _somewhere_. "Sir, have you lost weight?"

Mustang scratched his head. "I suppose I might have. Drachma's cold and there's not a whole lot to eat... The weather's horrible – ice and snow flying around everywhere. They sometimes cut your face up like little knives." That explained the faint remainders of several cuts that lined his cheeks and jaw. Roy was glad he was in his stiff military uniform; at least they couldn't notice just how much weight he'd lost and how much he'd been cut up. "I'm glad to be back in Central. It's so warm and comfy here."

"And it's good to have you back, Colonel!" Havoc sang, clapping him on the shoulder, earning himself a sharp glare from Hawkeye.

Roy suddenly assumed an air of authority. "Now, now, gentlemen. Why don't we get back to work? It's eight fifteen."

"Yessir!" The men returned to their jobs with more vigour than usual, the smiles plastered onto their faces. Mustang came over to his desk and set down his briefcase on it. Riza, looking at him, asked,

"How did things go in Drachma, sir?"

"Decently. I got everything done." Mustang sighed and sat in his old chair, spun around and looked out the window like he always did before. "Things here haven't changed at all, eh?" Back in the facility, he wouldn't have been surprised if the apocalypse had taken place while he'd been shut off from the rest of the world. This familiar scene relieved him.

"Well, it's only been three months, Colonel… but I was rather curious why you left us without any notice at all."

"I didn't want to, either, but it was an emergency. I didn't expect them to call me out like that… But at least I'm back in one piece."

"I agree, sir." Hawkeye gave him a rare smile and turned to oversee the others doing their jobs.

Roy restrained himself from putting his face in his hands. He was astonishing himself with his excellent acting. Every lie was tearing at him. He hated how easily they were coming out and fooling everyone. He wanted to tell at least Hawkeye the truth, but of course that was impossible. If anyone found out about his stay at the facility he would be a corpse in twenty-four hours, and so would his subordinates. Mustang told himself to stop thinking about such things – why couldn't he focus on the happiness of being back home? It felt so alien, though, as if this was the illusion, the dream…

_Stop it. Stop it_.

Now he could only wonder about what kind of horrors the coming nights might bring him. Most of his paperwork went unsigned that morning, much to the dismay of Riza, who had been hoping that her commander's trip to Drachma had improved his desire to work.

At least it had done other things to other aspects of him, although Mustang couldn't have called all of those 'improvements'.

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

That evening, Roy had a good Xingese dinner with Riza, as he had offered to take her out. He hadn't eaten anything so good in such a long time. He was careful not to make it seem as though he was a starved animal, however, and did his best to eat only a respectable amount.

It was his first time somewhere other than his office or apartment since MacDougall had brought him back to the city by car. They'd blindfolded him on the way there, predictably, so he wouldn't know the location of the facility. Not that he wanted to find out. He only knew that it took two hours to get there from his house, which wasn't very helpful information at all. Roy had been conveniently dropped off at his doorstep. These men seemed to be aware of every small detail of his life, but oddly enough it didn't shock or frighten him any more…

He found it funny how no one was wearing masks any more. He found it funny how he wasn't being forced into beating up trainees or doing a couple thousand chin-ups. His old life felt unnaturally comfortable. It almost made him uneasy.

As they walked home, Hawkeye was still in the process of trying to figure out why the Colonel felt so different to her from before. It was such a subtle difference that Riza was still failing to pinpoint it. He definitely looked slimmer, but that was easily explainable by the Drachma mission. Riza knew of how stressful it could be to go to the snow-covered country. Maybe it was something in his black eyes. They seemed... somewhat duller than before. Perhaps it was because of the fatigue of his trip. That was what Hawkeye was telling herself, but deep down she knew that something didn't click with this conclusion. She forced herself to let it go for now.

When Roy got home, the first thing he wanted to do was to go to bed. He had never known how wonderful his mattress was, until after he had the experience of sleeping in a rock-hard cot for three months. However he lost most of his urge to sleep when he found a note stuck to the light switch. It was well-disguised as the papers he sometimes put on the washroom mirror as reminders for himself. But instead of '_Get milk and eggs_' or '_Don't forget letter for the Major General_', this one simply read '_General_ _Thomas Johnston'_. A cold pit formed in Roy's stomach when he quickly deciphered that this man was going to be his first target. Knowing that he wouldn't necessarily have to murder someone tonight only gave him a small relief. He had to find out about this General Johnston before he could attempt to kill him…

First Mustang looked through his address book for Johnston's name. Despite all the training he'd gone through, his stomach still churned when he saw that he'd once asked Johnston for a favour, even though it had been over a year ago. Worse, Johnston was married… He knew that none of this mattered to his syndicate. All that was relevant was that General Johnston was in King Bradley's circle of officers.

What would be the best way to kill him? It would be a bad idea to attempt anything in the military; it wouldn't be difficult to get caught by a skilled soldier in a place like that. Not at Johnston's house, either, for that was an easy way to leave behind evidence and create a large mess… The only option left was to chase him down when he was heading home. That way, at least Mustang didn't have to hurt anyone else…

Roy got changed out of his uniform and into dark clothes. He remembered his brimmed hat as well, since he wouldn't have the protection of his mask, which would look conspicuous indeed. He waited until it was nearly three o'clock. It was then he left his apartment, with his uniform slung over his back in a bag, along with his briefcase. The morning was cool and still, typical autumn weather at Central. Referring to the palm of his hand, where he'd written down Johnston's address, he made his way through the deserted streets until he found the place – a disgustingly massive mansion that was surrounded by a high wall and a wicked-looking gate. Perched in the protection of a nearby tree, Mustang waited.

It was nearly seven thirty when Johnston finally emerged from his house. By then there were a few people in heading to work in the streets; this was a relief. Roy jumped down from the tree and began to follow the man from about ten metres behind, taking care not to be noticed. He memorized the turns Johnston took on his way to the offices; this way he could have a good idea of where to lie in wait for him the following evening. Since it was Tuesday a general of Bradley was probably too busy to go to a bar or party after work…

Stalking a military officer. Roy already felt like a criminal. _Just wait until this evening, Roy. Then you'll be a real criminal. Just wait._

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

The day passed without much event. An hour or so earlier than his usual leave time, Mustang told Hawkeye that he was feeling rather tired and asked her to take over for the rest of the day. Again, the lying… It was perfectly plausible as he was supposed to have just returned from an exhausting trip in Drachma, which was probably why Riza let him get away early this time. He bid his subordinates a good night and got home as quickly as he could. He fetched his equipment from under a loose floorboard near his bed – his black coat, shirt and pants, a knife, pistol and his personal favourite, a cable with weights on both ends. It was strong and light, useful for swinging on, for tripping, securing or strangling enemies… He took off his uniform, donned the dark clothes and put the weapons in his belt. He glanced at the last object left – the mask that MacDougall had given him. He hesitated before picking it up. He looked over it for the hundredth time, the black face reminding him of a demon or something of the sort... At last, he decided that he'd waited long enough. He pulled the coat closer around him and pulled the window open. He lived on the second floor. When he was sure that there was no one looking he swung himself out the window, and landed lightly on the ground. Before he could change his mind he put the mask on, paused for a moment, and disappeared into a nearby alley.

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

What an extraordinary sensation. He'd never felt anything like this before. It was as if a foreign body had entered his consciousness. He felt powerful without his face being exposed to the rest of the world, yet he had a sense of vulnerability at the same time. When he had this face covering his own, he was Raven, Tyson MacDougall's assassin. He wasn't Roy Mustang. It was surprisingly easy to convince himself of this. For why would Mustang, a Colonel in the military, be sneaking around in the dark with a mask on? It was an almost laughable thought.

He was strangely confident as he waited for Johnston to cross paths with him. Anticipation and adrenaline was coursing through his system. The cable was in his hand and his knife was in the other, ready to catch Johnston unawares. Roy Mustang, from under Raven's mask, whispered_, Why the hell are you looking forward to killing someone? _Raven probably would have just grinned, if he weren't the faceless demon he was.

There were footsteps coming this way. Raven confirmed that it was indeed Johnston, perhaps about twenty metres away. He flung up the cable and made it catch on the metal stairs that hung over his head. Quietly, he swung himself onto the bottom steps, and slowed his breathing down again. He untangled the cable from the stairs and wound it around his hand. He wanted this to all go down perfectly. It was going to be his first perfect kill, and definitely not the last.

Johnston came into view. He was a tall man, far larger than Raven himself. He'd learned early on that many people were bigger than him, since he wasn't exactly the tallest man in Amestris, so he needed to make up for his lack of size with strength and agility. Johnston had a strong, confident gait, similar to Mustang's own, quite common in men in the military. Thick hair, so he wasn't as old as some of Bradley's other generals. He didn't look too hard to bring down. But Raven kept in mind that Johnston was a soldier. He couldn't underestimate him.

Raven hurled the cable in Johnston's direction. The general gave a strangled yelp as it wrapped itself around his right leg and pulled him to the ground. Raven, not wasting a moment, secured the weight of the other end between the steps, then flung another one out, felt it catch around a street lamp – he swung down from his perch on the stairs and to the street, kicking down Johnston, who was attempting to get up again. He went once around the lamp and let go, using the momentum to land close to his victim. Johnston had managed to get onto his knees. He saw the black-clad, faceless assassin storming his way, and his eyes widened in fear.

"What the _fuck_ are you?" He screamed as Raven's knife glinted brightly in the dimness. "_What do you want from me?_"

Raven had been taught to work in silence. He didn't answer; he just forced the man down again with his foot, raised the knife. Then the pure terror he saw in Johnston's eyes made him falter. Mustang was again feeling Ishval. _Ignore it. Ignore it_, Raven was commanding him. The few seconds he'd just wasted had cost him. Johnston, even from his position under Raven, had managed to draw something out of his pocket. It shone. It was small. It was a knife, a gun or a watch. Judging by the way it was being held, it was a small revolver_. Oh, shit_. The gunshot rang out; simultaneously, Raven swerved his upper body to one side. Instead of finding his heart as it should have, the bullet just grazed his collarbone. However, some blood flew into the air, but perhaps that was an advantage for him. Raven deliberately took a moment to recover from the shot; Johnston visibly relaxed, obviously thinking that he'd won. Too late, he realized that Raven was very much alive. The masked man, this time without hesitation, pushing away the Colonel's emotions, drove his knife directly into Johnston's chest, piercing the heart and killing him almost instantly.

Raven felt ridiculous. He was again reminded that if he didn't finish his victims first, they would try to finish him. Hadn't the facility taught him that? Stupid Mustang. Stupid, stupid Mustang and his emotions_. Get that, you idiot Colonel. Kill or be killed. It's that simple_, Raven jeered. _It's not so hard_.

But why was it Roy that was left staring down at Johnston's corpse? Why was it Roy that was left with the dull stinging of the bullet wound? Where was Raven now? He removed his mask, aware of the danger of the act. Mustang then bent down and reached over; he closed Johnston's glassy eyes, still wide-open in mortal terror. He pulled his knife out of the general's blood-soaked clothes and began to wipe it clean on the familiar blue uniform.

_You're a real criminal now, Mustang. A murderer_.

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

Roy had made a mistake by not considering how demanding his schedule had been the day before. He'd been awake for over twenty-four hours. That little spying mission of his in the morning had taken too much of his sleep. At least the assassination hadn't taken quite so long… Still, when he got back to his apartment, it was well over midnight. After rubbing some alcohol into his wound and taping a folded handkerchief over it, he collapsed into bed. He fell asleep in a matter of seconds and slept like a log.

When morning came he dragged himself out of bed and did a few hundred push-ups like Snake had advised him to. Then the sit-ups. He was no longer doing intensive, all-day exercise routines, but he still needed to keep himself in peak condition… He found that his little workout had warded off his drowsiness; he checked his clock and saw that it was seven o'clock. Not bad at all. First changing handkerchiefs, he got dressed in his uniform, made himself a sandwich and headed off to work, no earlier and no later than usual.

He greeted his subordinates and picked up the morning edition of _Central Times_. He saw what he had been expecting on the headlines – _A New Killer on the Block? General Thomas Johnston found brutally murdered!_ The part of him that was Raven felt a surge of pleasure; Roy just felt sick.

"It seems like we're having more trouble here in Central, sir…" Mustang almost jumped. Hawkeye had been reading the paper from his side. For how long had she been standing there? Had she noticed anything?

Roy forced himself to speak normally. "Yeah… Has this been happening while I was away?"

"No, Colonel. Not this kind of stuff." Breda answered from the other end of the room, his mouth full of hot dog. "We haven't had a straight murder like this for a while."

"Since those killings from last year, you mean?" Mustang feigned curiosity. He was pretty damn good at this.

"Probably, sir." Fuery said. "It's strange how this person went for another man in the military, just like that other one…"

"Also, wasn't this Johnston guy one of Furher Bradley's generals?" Havoc piped up, his cigarette smoking. "Whoever this murderer is sure doesn't seem to like the military. You think he's the same person from last year?"

"Who knows?" Falman shrugged." It's perfectly possible…" Roy let them argue about what they thought about the incident. He sank into his chair, suddenly more aware of the dull ache below his neck. Would something give him away? What if he'd left behind some kind of evidence without knowing? What if someone became suspicious of him? What if –

"Colonel?" Riza's concerned voice interrupted his panicked train of thought. "Are you all right, sir? You look a little pale."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Mustang answered, commanding his heartbeat to slow down. Everything was normal. Everything was all right. He wasn't going to get caught. No one would suspect him. He'd done a good job last night.

**TBC. Reviews are my life!**


	5. Yo, Fullmetal

**Notes: **Yeah, I know this took a long time to write. I was pondering on the future of this story and came up with character sketches (of my several OCs), profiles and stuff like that, so I wasn't actually working on the chapter itself for a while. I had an awful last week of school at the beginning of March; thankfully it's break now but I've been failing to write because of my new obsession of the TV show, _Criminal Minds_. So yeah, I'd like to apologize for the long wait. Anyways, now about the chapter itself… I decided to shove Ed into the mix – Fullmetal's presence always makes for interesting situations. I'm also thinking of making Tyson MacDougall into a bigger character, as I have some plans for the guy… If you'd like to see the sketches I might post some on my DeviantArt account in the near future.

Whew, that was a lot of chitchat… Onto the chapter now.

Here we go.

**Chapter Five: ****_"Yo, Fullmetal."_**

_Three Weeks Later_

Edward Elric felt that there was a noticeable air of unease in the streets of Central. It was barely past five o'clock, but as autumn approached, darkness fell fast every day. There weren't very many people in the normally busy roads; Ed and Alphonse were two of the very few human beings walking in the middle of the sidewalk like they were doing. Everyone seemed to be… afraid of something.

"Hey, Al, what's going on here? Something's off, don't you think?" Edward remarked as they made their way to the headquarters.

Alphonse shrugged. "I dunno, Brother… But it is a little too quiet here… We can ask the Colonel about it."

"If the bastard's back, that is. Who the hell does he think he is? Since when did he take random three-month vacations without notice?" Ed growled. He had to admit that it was strange. It was even more so when Lieutenant Hawkeye had told the brothers that she was unable to contact him. Colonel Mustang was unorganized sometimes, but this…. it was rather odd… The brothers had received news of the Colonel's return. Neither of them was sure if this was true, but they had decided to try paying Headquarters a visit.

Al exclaimed in exasperation. "Brother! The Lieutenant said it was a diplomatic mission to Drachma!"

Ed just rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Probably he was just off on a bunch of dates with girls he picked up on the streets…"

"Don't, Brother," Al sighed, sounding cross, as he always did when Ed got foul-mouthed.

"Whatever," grumbled Edward; he lifted his eyes upwards and let out an exaggerated sigh. The white building that was Central Headquarters was looming above them. "Damn, here we are."

"Yup. Let's go." They walked on and reached the door of Mustang's office. Ed, as usual, knocked more loudly than necessary with his metal knuckles. Also, as usual, the Colonel's drawl reached their ears. He always recognized the footsteps of the Elric brothers, as well as the rapping of Ed's fist, far before they entered his office.

"Come in."

Edward hadn't seen Colonel Mustang sitting in that chair for a long time. Strangely enough it almost pleased him to see his superior back in his office again; for a while Ed had thought that Roy would never show up again.

…not that he'd been worried or anything…

Roy casually waved a hand. "Yo, Fullmetal."

"Hey," Edward grunted. Mustang was seated in his chair, holding a pen and almost obscured behind a large stack of papers and books. He was alone; his subordinates were probably off on errands. Ed looked at him closely. Did Mustang look a little pale to him? "Have you been starving yourself or something, Colonel?"

Alphonse started to say something, but Roy spoke first. "I suppose you can say that. What about you? Is it just me, or have you gotten taller?" Ed bristled, but this time he couldn't tell whether Mustang was mocking him or being genuine. He _did_ feel a little bigger than three months ago… Of course Ed had no idea that Roy completely meant it. It felt like a very long time since he'd seen the blonde boy and his brother. A very long time… Was that why Edward seemed to have become more mature?

"So… how did your trip go, sir?" Al attempted to inject some polite conversation into the silent room.

"Fine," Mustang replied simply. "How about you two? How have you been?"

"We're just dropping by Central to take a little break… We're both tired. But we come here, and the city looks dead – what's going on? Is there something happening around here?"

"Hm?" Roy raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Just as I say. The city looks dead. There's no one on the streets. We've come to Central enough to know that something's not right."

"Well…" Mustang's hesitation was obvious. "There have been some killings lately."

Edward's eyes widened. "Killings? You mean, murders?"

"Well…" Roy's hesitation was clear to Ed. "Yeah. Someone's been targeting people and eliminating them for the last month. He only gets men in the military, for some reason… The seventh was killed only two days ago."

Edward took a moment to digest all this. "A serial killer?" Al gasped.

"I guess you can say that… The guy has the entire military here scared to bits."

"Aren't you?" Ed said, his eyes narrowing involuntarily. "Shouldn't you be in hiding or something? What if you're targeted next? If this person's been getting experienced soldiers this easily, shouldn't you be a little nervous, too?" He tried not to sound too concerned. He wasn't really, of course, since he knew that Mustang was a confident bastard who could take care of himself, but at the same time, this situation struck him as not very good at all. The military had to stay intact, for who else would keep Amestris under control? What was this bastard going for, anyways? What was his goal? Already the gears in Edward's inquisitive mind were beginning to turn, trying to grasp for any clues despite having just arrived in Central.

"Well… I honestly don't believe in those stupid stories about the killer being a phantom that's going to hunt down every last member of the military, so no. I'd fry him if he came after me, and you know that – probably, judging by his precise kills, he does, too." Mustang, as always, was calm and laid-back. He twirled the pen in his hand a few times, glancing down at the paper on his table.

This was a reaction Ed had been expecting from him. The Colonel didn't like to show any kind of fear or weakness… _Just like me_, Edward thought bitterly, the corners of his mouth turning into a deeper frown.

"You should be careful, Colonel," Alphonse said, voicing his older brother's thoughts, "this person must be a legitimate professional, since he's been able to get so many victims without being caught…"

"Yeah, we know. We're doing our best to capture him but we've got no leads… It's pretty pathetic, if you ask me, he's just a single person. We've placed a high reward for his arrest, and everyone's looking for him. It's pointless. We don't even have a name – just an alias. We know he likes to call himself 'Raven'. He's got skills. He takes down experienced generals as if they were sitting ducks, he kills them nice and clean with a dozen different kinds of weapons. Then he just disappears. It's unlike anyone we've ever had in Central before."

Edward sank into a thoughtful silence. Roy had returned to his paperwork, obviously finished saying what he needed to say about the Raven character. It was then there was another knock on the door. Ed ran to get it as Mustang called out, "Who is it?"

A stunned quiet greeted the newcomer. Edward's jaw dropped open, and Alphonse gasped, a little too loudly. Roy, seeing who it was, leapt up to his feet and saluted mechanically, the surprise not showing on his face. "Furher Bradley! What brings you here, sir?"

_King Bradley?! What the hell's he doing here?_

"Good afternoon, Colonel Mustang, I'm sorry for barging in like this." Bradley was smiling and waving his hand. His single eye fell on Edward and Alphonse. "Ah, just as I'd heard – the Fullmetal Alchemist and his brother is here."

"Er, yes, sir." Ed stammered lamely.

Bradley acknowledged him with a nod. "I trust you've caught up with news of Central City?"

"Yes, sir." Ed, still flustered, had no idea what else to say. What was the Furher doing here? What did he want? Did it have something to do with him and Alphonse?

Roy said, "I've just been informing the Elric brothers of the assassin – "

"Ah, the so-called Raven?" The Furher put his hands behind his back. "As a matter of fact, that is exactly the matter I wish to discuss right now."

"About Raven, sir?" Roy was surprised.

"Yes, since the Elric brothers are here, I'd like to give them a special mission."

Something about that made Edward nervous. "A mission?"

"I would like you and Alphonse to capture and arrest this Raven for me. You two are the perfect pair for the job."

Edward couldn't help but gape. "Arrest Raven, sir?"

"The reward will be great. We need to get a hold of this criminal before it is too late. He has a great goal that he will undoubtedly achieve if he is not stopped."

"But, Furher, sir – we already have our entire police force on the lookout for him. We'll catch him eventually." Roy protested before clamping his mouth shut at the considerable pressure of Bradley's one-eyed gaze. The older man just shook his head.

"If we have the Elric brothers on the murderer's trail we will catch him ten times faster."

"Sir – they're just boys. This is a professional killer that has taken down seven veteran soldiers." Edward was annoyed and oddly touched at the same time. _Ha! Mustang was actually worried about him? I'm not a little kid any more, bastard._

"They've seen much more than the average child. But, since you insist, Colonel, why don't we have them decide instead. This is an offer for them, not for you. It is not your choice to make." At the Furher's falsely friendly but firm tone Roy had no choice but to withdraw. He met Edward's eyes as if urging him to make a wise decision.

Was a feeling of opposition against Roy what drove Ed to make his choice? His desire to be better than the Colonel Bastard? Or was it something else? Maybe it was his natural way of wanting to protect people, even people he had nothing to do with… Either way, Edward came to regret saying what he said right now.

"Al?"

"Yeah?" Alphonse looked at his brother.

"What do you think?"

Al's hesitation was obvious. "I don't know, Brother… It sounds a little dangerous…"

Edward faced Bradley; determinedly, he said in a loud and clear voice, "We'll take the job."

He pretended not to notice Mustang's deep and long sigh.

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

Mustang had been sitting on his bed, massaging his temples, for the longest time. He didn't really believe in God, but somehow he knew that if one existed, he wasn't being held in high favour. The past few weeks had been hell; just when he would have thought that things couldn't get worse, Fullmetal had shown up and made things even messier…

The stupid boy. The stupid, stupid boy. Bradley hadn't helped at all, of course, but Edward… What the hell drove him to accept the Raven mission? Roy was dismayed. With the Fullmetal Alchemist hot on his tail, life was going to get a whole lot more difficult. The brat was young but he had the skills, guts and the brains – Roy knew that he should be worried. Or rather, Raven should be.

But the thing that was truly gnawing at him was the fact that he had no desire to hurt young Edward or Alphonse, though he knew it was unavoidable if he wished to survive and escape capture. The boy was going to put all his effort into the hunt – he had seen it in those golden eyes. Would Raven be able to resist the urge to impale, shoot or strangle Ed like he'd done to his previous victims?

Roy flopped back onto his mattress and let out another sigh. He tried to console himself with the fact that he didn't have to work tonight. There had been no note with a name on his light switch when he'd returned home. Mustang wasn't sure whether to be relieved or suspicious; he remembered the lack of activity back in the facility right before he had been forced to become a killing machine. Those memories kept on coming back despite his best attempts to forget all that he had gone through. How could he forget when there was a mask and a dozen different weapons sitting under the floorboard under his bed?

How many had he killed so far? Was it already seven? _Seven_? It seemed like such a small number – it was, compared to the hundreds Mustang had blown up in Ishval. Yet it didn't feel that way. Attending the funerals of the deceased military officers and watching their sobbing families was heart-wrenchingly difficult. But Raven and the syndicate craved their blood; Mustang had no choice but to obey, fearing for the lives of his subordinates.

Even Riza couldn't guess what her superior was doing every night. None of Mustang's other men suspected anything, either. Hawkeye still seemed to be suspicious, however, and Roy knew he needed to be extremely cautious. He never let anything slip, and he acted as he always did. His never let his night job get in the way of his daily work. His façade was perfect, impenetrable.

Impossibly, Roy was beginning to get used to his new lifestyle. He learned to track and research his victims more efficiently. He also taught himself to manage his time better, to catch naps and rest whenever he could, for his nightly missions were draining. Some of the men he had gone after put up good fights, just like Johnston, his first kill, whose bullet had left a vivid red scar on his skin. One particularly memorable general managed to keep up with Raven's vicious blows for what Roy estimated to be about a minute. That was the longest so far – most other men found Raven's speed overwhelming. Roy still couldn't believe how fast he was able to move when he had to. Sometimes he barely felt human any more. The way his victims screamed when they saw him coming, he would have thought that he was wearing a monster mask instead of a plain black one…

The police that came after him were stupid, slow and cowardly. They had no chance of capturing him. On top of that, Raven knew of all their plans and movements, thanks to Roy Mustang's convenient position in the heart of the military. This made Roy realize, once again, the frighteningly precise planning Tyson MacDougall must have done. MacDougall had picked a perfect candidate for his mission – a skilled and intelligent soldier who worked in the centre of the country's government, in the same building as King Bradley. Roy was afraid to think what a man like MacDougall would be capable of if he was to lead the country after bringing down Bradley. After all, there had been no mention of who was going to take over after all this was finished, and Roy didn't dare ask.

Lost in his own thoughts, Mustang had let his guard down. Suddenly, he felt an unfamiliar presence nearby, here, in his apartment. Keeping his breathing normal, Roy slowly sat up, and reached for the pocketknife he always kept on his bedside table. He stood and made his way to the dimly lit living room, hardly making a sound, listening, blade poised like an animal's claw.

There was a rustle behind him – his arm shot out as if of its own accord. A split second later, he found his hand clenched around the collar of the intruder. Seeing the person's face, his eyes widened.

"MacDougall?"

It was him, exactly as Roy had remembered from their single meeting. He even seemed to be wearing the same suit and tie. "Good evening, Raven." His voice was the same – calm and controlled.

"What are you doing here? You could have used the front door, you know." Mustang cautiously released his grip on the man's front and lowered his knife. "Or you could have left me a note. It might be a good way to avoid getting your throat slit by mistake, sir."

"I prefer to do business in a more personal manner, and this isn't a normal circumstance, either. I thought it would be best for me to come meet you in person." As MacDougall was straightening his tie, Mustang noticed that he wasn't wearing his sunglasses. This made the scars on his face stand out more vividly. Yet the face was oddly handsome. When their eyes met for a moment in the dimness, Roy saw that MacDougall had the brightest green eyes he had ever seen – they were almost eerily so. They were clear and intelligent, not unlike Roy's own.

"What's this business that brought you here at one in the morning?" Roy broke the silence, glancing at the clock.

"Several things. Firstly, I'd like to congratulate you on an excellent first week. You've gone beyond our expectations – your methods are proving very effective. You're also doing a good job of evading the authorities."

"Thank you, sir." Mustang knew this was only the surface of what MacDougall wanted to say. He wouldn't have come here, not like this, just to praise him on his performance.

"I also have some news for you." MacDougall continued.

"News? Good or bad?"

"I wouldn't know. Neither, I suppose. It's more like a new mission I'd like you to undertake, Raven."

"It's not another assassination?" The word came out so easily now.

"It may include one. You see…" MacDougall paused to take out a cigarette from his pocket. Lighting it, he continued, "We believe that someone is targeting Thomas Anderson."

This only mildly surprised Mustang, for some reason. "Anderson? Snake?"

"Yes. We have a good guess of who it might be, but we have yet to find solid facts."

"I'm guessing that that's going to be my job…"

"Your intelligence will greatly assist in our operation. Also, I'll have ask you to help capture the man."

"Who is this person? Do you have any idea?" Mustang's brain was already gearing up to work.

"We're not sure. Snake has a theory… You might want to talk to him." Roy didn't flinch when MacDougall exhaled cigarette smoke into his face. Havoc had gotten him used to second-hand smoking.

"Talk to him? How? I haven't seen him for a month." Mustang was sceptical. But more than that, he had no desire to face his mentor again. It was him who had transformed the righteous Colonel Mustang into a faceless, unfeeling killer, and Roy didn't feel like forgiving him for that, not yet, even though there was still that strange sense of respect for the older man in him.

MacDougall fell silent for a moment, just drinking in his cigarette smoke. Roy could tell he wasn't thinking; he was simply biding his time, enjoying the suspense he had created. At last, he spoke. "He'll have to come to you. It'll be the best way to carry this out. It'll lure the killer out; it'll give you a chance to catch him unawares. Snake will take care of himself, and his presence will go unnoticed by everyone but you."

"You want me to live with Snake?" Mustang failed to keep the disbelief from his voice. "You want me to_ live with him?_"

The corner of MacDougall's lips twitched, as if he was trying not to smile. For a moment Roy almost considered punching him in the face, so that it would fall apart at the scars. "Well, I suppose you can think of it that way."

"But that's ridiculous."

"He won't bother you."

"Oh, of course a near stranger crouching in the corner of my tiny apartment isn't going to bother me." Roy snapped. "What am I to you? I wish you'd stop giving me more and more difficult tasks to do. Giving me numerous war veterans as my targets is bad enough, but what is this? Am I your little puppet?"

MacDougall showed emotion for the first time. He smirked. Mustang hated to admit it, but this man was quite like him – a handsome devil. A handsome, infuriating devil. "Yeah, that's exactly what I think you are. You're just another weapon of mine, albeit a perfect one." The grin vanished from his face. He leaned in close, and Roy was forced to acknowledge their difference in height. He smelled like Havoc – of cigarette smoke. MacDougall's voice dropped to a whisper. "And if you don't do as I say, I can guarantee you that Anderson has some ugly things in store for you, Raven."

Mustang said nothing, his injured pride making him bristle. MacDougall turned to leave, and gave his employee a clap on the shoulder. He waved a hand lazily. "By the way, Snake wants you to eliminate someone called Brigadier General Allen Pike. That'll be tomorrow's target for you, since I've wasted quite a bit of your time already. Catch some sleep."

Roy wanted to laugh. Now he was being told to catch some sleep_? And I wonder who was taking it from me in the first place?_

He stood and watched MacDougall's pale whitish head disappear through his open front door.

**TBC.**

**Reviews will be appreciated!**


	6. A Man's Pride

**Notes: **I'm sorry it took a month to update this story. I had a busy few weeks, plus no Internet over last weekend, and frankly, I've been quite stuck for a while. I hope this chapter manages to live up to your expectations; thanks so much to all of my reviewers. I'll try to make the story pick up some more over the course of the next chapters; we'll have to put assassin-Roy to more work XD

It's been fun writing Roy, Ed and Al in particular. Oh, and Riza. How can I forget Riza? I'm considering introducing a little more Royai in the later chapters, I'm such a huge fan of the pairing :) It'll all depend on where all this is going to end up, though, so we'll see.

Thanks to **theflamefangirl **and **BlackLioness **for reviewing the previous chapter!

Anyways, here it is. Happy reading!

**P.S. I found a dumb mistake in the chapter so I've fixed that. I hope no one noticed how Raven made Al's leg fall off by hitting his shoulder.... Heh.**

**Chapter Six:**** A Man's Pride**

"He's over here! He's just killed someone – he's going to get away!" Edward's head snapped around at the sound of the policemen.

"Al! Come on! We're not gonna let him get away!" Edward rapped on Al's armoured torso, and dashed off in the direction of the commotion. He cursed. He could barely see where he was going; the sidewalk was dark and the only streetlamp nearby was flickering unhelpfully, casting shadows in every corner. Al followed his brother, his metallic footsteps echoing loudly.

Al called out, "Brother! I think he's over there!" Ed nodded and sprinted forward. It had been a mistake. Before he could fully grasp what was happening, Edward found himself hurtling backwards, his gut on fire. He heard Al cry out even before he hit the ground; he skidded across the pavement rather painfully. Ed, his teeth gritted, tried to get up, but another blow to the face knocked him back down. Dimly, he heard Al's voice, sounding as if it was coming from very far away. He looked up, blinking frantically, only to see a black booted foot coming down towards his face with incredible speed.

This time Edward was quick. He flung up his automail arm to block the kick – it was a powerful one – then pushed it away, and rolled to the side, ending back up on his feet. He clapped his hands together, turned his arm into a blade – just in time to meet his assailant's furious punch with the flat part of his blade. And then, Edward caught his second glimpse of the assassin known as Raven.

The first time he'd encountered the bastard, he'd committed the man's appearance to his memory. That was when Raven was trying to kill an overweight man whose name Edward couldn't recall. He was of medium height with a strong and lean build; his hair was as dark as his black mask and clothes. Something about him struck Ed as familiar but he couldn't quite place what it was…

Raven's knife-arm was nothing but a glittering blur of silver as it came flying in for the kill. Ed yelled and parried, feeling himself being forced backwards by Raven's sheer strength. "Alphonse! Help me out!"

They exchanged several more blows. Raven was fast. His knife seemed to be everywhere at once. Once or twice Ed felt white-hot slivers of pain here and there, where the blade cut into his skin. To his grim satisfaction he managed to slice into his opponent's clothes, just once. He was hoping he had gotten to the flesh but couldn't have said, from the unchanged speed and fury of the strikes he was being dealt.

Raven suddenly dropped low and lashed out with his legs, using his free arm as a pivot. Ed's feet were swept out from under him and he hit the ground once again. He saw the knife flash. It was poised for his chest. It was then Alphonse came lunging in, tackling Raven to the side. Edward didn't even hear a gasp from the assassin. No sign of surprise. No emotion at all, even as he was being attacked – half-squashed – by a massive suit of armour. Al had him locked under one metal arm, effectively immobilizing him… for about thirty seconds. There was a loud, hollow clank; Ed got to his feet. He felt himself gaping from surprise. For the Raven bastard had somehow struck Al's thigh hard enough to make his leg come loose. It just fell off, hitting the ground with a _clang_. Alphonse's exclamation of surprise was clearly audible as he toppled over to one side. Even as Edward called out his brother's name, the first thought that entered his head was rather embarrassing.

_That's never happened before_…

And what was stranger was that even the dark emptiness inside Al's armour had failed to impress Raven. Was anything going to catch this man by surprise? Edward doubted it. He desperately wanted to go help Al, who was trying to get ahold of his leg, but he knew that it was far too risky for the time being. He was preparing himself for more rough treatment, assuming a defensive fighting stance – but nothing came. Edward slowly lowered his fists as he realized that the assassin, once again, had run off. He'd just vanished, having melted into the darkness.

"Brother!" Al cried, his detached leg clutched in his hand.

Ed turned. "Al! Are you all right?" He patted Alphonse's armour, pushing him up to a sitting position.

Al shook his head vigorously. "I'm fine, Brother, what about you? There's blood on your face!"

"It's just a scratch, don't worry about it." Edward wiped his face with the back of his gloved hand; crimson came off on the white fabric. Not so far away, he could hear the racket of the policemen. They couldn't have been more useless… Despite the weight of his failure to capture Raven, Ed made his best attempt at a grin. "Al! Give me your leg. I'll fix you up."

"Brother…"

As he took Al's leg, tucking it under his armpit, Edward clapped his hands together and said, "Al, stop worrying. We're going to get the bastard. I promise you, we're going to catch him. I'll figure something out."

Alphonse scratched at his head. "No, Brother… I was just about to tell you…"

"Hm?"

"Your automail, Brother. It looks broken."

Ed glanced at his arm at that. He realized that it was feeling a little limp, and he was right. Something was off.

"_That bastard!_"

Edward tried not to think of how he would tell Winry Rockbell about this little incident. He'd promised her to stay out of trouble for at least a few weeks; of course he hadn't told her that he and Al had agreed to look for a convicted murdering man in a mask. Ed also tried to banish the picture of her wrench from his head. It was almost as frightening as thinking of whose face lay under Raven's mask.

**fmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfma**

Even when he was aching all over from Raven's scuffle with Edward Elric the night before, Roy felt like going to work earlier this morning for some reason. He supposed it was because he wanted to take a rare leisurely walk to Headquarters for once. The persistent stinging of the gash Edward had cut into his upper arm wasn't pleasant, but he had caught a few hours of sleep, which was not bad compared to his usual nights. As Mustang changed into his dress shirt, he took a glance at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall. He felt like a patchwork doll, with all those breaks in the skin and the bandages holding it all together. Since when had he had so many scars? Ed had probably added another dozen bruises to his collection last night. Raven hadn't been pleased at the prospect of having to go easy on the boy, but Roy knew that he wouldn't be able to bring himself to harm the Fullmetal Alchemist. However, Raven couldn't be stopped from inflicting a few cuts on Edward, and casually knocking off Alphonse's leg. Behind the protection of the mask, Raven probably felt that he could do anything and be able to get away with it…

He had to admit that it was strange to fight Fullmetal like he was doing. He was astonished that Edward seemed to have no clue that he had, in fact, brawled with no one other than Colonel Mustang. How could he not notice anything? _You're covering your face, how the heck would the kid know?_ Roy told himself, but it only made him feel queasy again; his act was truly convincing to _everyone – _even to Hawkeye, even to Edward. When he was Raven, he changed his way of walking, his fighting style, his voice, even, whenever he needed to say anything during an operation… It was so perfect. So flawless.

Roy sighed, straightened his uniform and began packing his briefcase. He had also made sure to put on his gloves, since his knuckles were raw and bruised from the amount of flesh it had pounded on in the past few months. He picked up his briefcase and made his way to the door; he opened his mouth to speak for the first time in probably twelve hours at least. "What could be possibly so interesting that it makes you stare out the window for half an hour, Snake?"

The still-masked man replied without turning, "None of your business, Raven, but if you really would like to know, I am just in the process of pinpointing possible locations where would-be killers can hide."

"I wish you would be a little more useful around the house instead of using up my food supply." Roy was in the process of pulling his feet into his boots.

"Well, I am supposed to pretend not to be here, am I not?"

"Dusting the bookshelves for me couldn't hurt."

"I'm comfortable where I am, thank you."

Roy muttered under his breath as he bent down to pick up the newspaper. "Eating my food doesn't really convince me of your non-existence, you know…" His eyes swept over the headline. They widened. "What the _hell_…"

A photograph was plastered on the front page. It was blurred and underexposed, as if it was taken very hastily and in the dark. It was probably the case. The caption read that a photographer had taken the shot before being sliced into several pieces by his subject – a man clad in black,a man in a mask_. It was a black mask_. Roy stared at the picture for a few seconds before confirming that it was not of himself – of Raven. The hair was too long, and the mask wasn't scarred enough. But it was the same mask. It was definitely the same mask. Roy's mind had begun to race as he skimmed through the article at a feverish pace. It was describing how this man, this masked phantom, was the Raven; how this time he'd gone for a normal citizen instead of another military officer. How his killing method had suddenly switched from what looked like relatively quick murders to a complete dismemberment…

"Raven, what could possibly hold your interest you for so long? Is it something I should be aware of?" Snake's voice finally pulled him out of the article.

Mustang's head snapped up as he folded the paper in half and tucked it under his arm. Snake was still at the window. "No, you wouldn't find it useful." Snake replied with what seemed like a dubious silence; Roy shook his head and turned to the door. "I'll be back by seven. Don't do anything stupid to my apartment, please. And by the way," he said as he began to walk out, "don't call me that unless I happen to have a mask on."

Snake just chuckled. The bastard.

**fmafmaFMAFMAFMAfmafma**

"I see you're still hanging around my office, Fullmetal." Roy raised his eyebrows as soon as he saw Edward's bright red coat and Alphonse's shiny armour. "Shouldn't you be looking for that assassin?"

Ed stuck out his lower lip. "He doesn't come out during the day, apparently, so there's no point."

Mustang set down his briefcase on his table, nodding back to the shouted greetings of his subordinates. They were all going about their business and Hawkeye was overlooking them as usual. Life was still normal, unlike how he'd felt when he first saw the headline this morning. Roy turned his attention back to the boys. "You know, that could just be a strategy of his? Luring his pursuers into a false sense of security?"

"Maybe. But I'm tired. We met up with him yesterday, Al and I… I think he knows me pretty well by now." Ed flopped down into a nearby chair with a sigh.

"You fought him?"

"Yes, sir." Alphonse answered him this time.

"What happened?" Every single one of Roy's muscles knew exactly where, how and when he'd struck Fullmetal, and they were also aware of the spots where he'd been hit. But by now he was an expert in pretending to be oblivious.

"We tried to catch him, but he got away." Edward said bluntly, turning away from his superior.

Without looking up from the process of unpacking, Roy asked, "Is that where you got that band-aid?" Edward only glared at him before saying,

"He's good, you know. Really good. I'm surprised that he didn't manage to kill me already."

"He even knocked off my leg with a single strike," Al added quietly. "No one's ever done that before."

Trying to keep his expression on the neutral side and injecting some concern into his voice, Roy inquired, "Are you two okay?"

Ed shrugged the question off. "We're fine."

Roy absently thumbed through some papers before saying, "Didn't you use alchemy against him?"

"We were trying to, sir, but he was too fast…" Alphonse said.

"Too fast for you brothers' alchemy? Now that's saying a lot."

"We can see why they call him inhuman now. I've never seen anyone who could fight like that. If he'd stayed any longer…" Edward didn't need to finish his sentence. He knew that he could have gotten himself very seriously damaged. He was making an effort to hide his still-broken automail, but Roy had already noticed that the boy's metal arm was behaving unnaturally. He also recalled dealing the elbow joint a particularly strong blow with his knife the night before, and feeling something snap under the force. How did he even remember these things? He had no idea.

"He apparently killed someone else last night, too." Mustang said, and tossed Edward the morning edition of the paper. His intention – no, Raven's – was to throw off his pursuers by using this piece of news as an advantage. Ed's eyes widened as he read; Alphonse gave a small gasp from over his brother's shoulder.

"We saw him near the bank last night! This murder took place at the other side of the city… What is this guy, a ghost? How the hell is he everywhere at once?" Ed sounded angry. Roy assumed that the boy was blaming himself for the casualty. Because he'd failed to capture the killer, another life had been lost… _Ha! If you're thinking it's your fault, what am I supposed to do, Fullmetal?_ "This is _stupid_…"

Mustang couldn't help but smirk at the adjective used. "Stupid?"

The fury in Edward's golden eyes was real. "This isn't funny, Colonel."

"I never said it was." Roy said easily, pretending not to notice anything and casually beginning to sign a document.

Alphonse cut in before Ed could hurl another vicious verbal attack at Mustang. "Colonel… I don't think Brother and I can do this by ourselves…"

"What're you talking about, Al? We can do this! We were so close last night!" Ed protested. His face went almost as red as his coat when Roy looked at him with raised eyebrows. "I-I don't want other people to get involved…" He said at last, looking down at his feet, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. "Besides, we'll need that prize money." Edward added, rather lamely.

_The righteous little boy…_ Inwardly, Roy sighed, while Raven urged him to take this opportunity to use for his advantage. "I'll give you another week," Mustang replied finally. Raven liked this decision. He didn't need any more men running after him or his mysterious copycat, for the matter, every night. "But shouldn't you go fix your arm first?"

"What?" Ed was surprised. How did Mustang notice that?

"You really think I'm an idiot, don't you." Edward started to bristle again at that, and Alphonse was in the process of trying to hold his brother back – it was then Hawkeye conveniently intervened. She stepped right in between the brothers and Roy's desk, and said,

"Colonel?"

"Hm?"

"You have more paperwork here, due by the end of the week." She promptly put the monstrous stack of papers and folders down on Roy's desk. Edward, despite himself, gave a snigger at Mustang's look of absolute horror.

"_Brother!_"

"What?" Ed just grinned innocently, got to his feet and began to swagger to the door. "Come on, Al."

Roy sighed, and called out, "Where will you two be headed?"

"We'll visit Risembool today, to see the Rockbells. Expect us back by the end of tomorrow; we'll start looking for Raven again that evening."

"Wouldn't that be a bit strenuous? I won't mind if you guys need another day off, you know… I can fill in for you… " If this actually happened, it could become a problem. Roy couldn't be Roy and Raven at once. What would happen if he was ordered to arrest Raven? Sooner or later someone clever would be able to put the pieces together, and his cover would be blown. Mustang was only saying this because he knew that Ed's pride wouldn't be able to take it. As always, he was correct.

"_We'll be fine_." Edward replied curtly without turning. "I'll see you later, Colonel."

Roy lazily waved a hand. "If you say so, Fullmetal." He had to smile at Edward's loud grumbling, fading into the distance as the brothers walked away.

**fmafmaFMAFMAFMAFMAfmafma**

Mustang had never liked whiskey. Even the scent of him made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. He preferred milder drinks that didn't render people plumb drunk. But of course, half of these stupid higher-ups were probably alcoholics that didn't really give a damn about drinking ethics and such. Mustang couldn't have cared less if they drank their lives away. He just didn't see the point in inviting someone like him to come along.

The general or lieutenant general, whoever he was, slapped Roy on the back, chugging down his own serving of whiskey. "Come on, Mustang, drink up, drink up!" It wasn't as if they were going to pay for it or anything… _What's the fucking point of this?_ Mustang glared at the large, frothing mug sitting on the counter before him. The overpowering stink of alcohol and cigarette smoke, coupled with the loud voices and laughter made him feel nauseous. He regretted accepting his invitation out of politeness. Why did he have to be polite to these _pigs?_ He just wanted to get out of this stupid bar.

Raven was adding these military men, all still in uniform, to his list of future targets. There was one grossly overweight one who seemed to be left-handed, a general; another with a scarred face, receding hair and a double chin, lieutenant general; a younger man with a moustache, lieutenant general again… For some reason, this time Roy felt like helping Raven create his little list. All of these superior officers of his were dull-witted, arrogant, greedy and foolish. The bar seemed to strip away any dignity they happened to have left; they were savages. This was the reason of Amestris's slow decay. This, and King Bradley, perhaps, the man who employed and promoted these worms. Nearby, Roy located several clusters of other customers, whispering amongst themselves. Judging by the way they kept on casting furtive glances this way, they were talking about the rambunctious soldiers in their bar. Weren't government officers supposed to be respectable men? _What was this? _Couldn't Amestris have officials that people could be proud of?

With these angry thoughts in his head, Roy shrugged off the stranger's arm from his shoulder and pushed back his chair. He mumbled an excuse, put a few coins on the counter and slunk away. He saw one of the generals find the change and slip it into his own pocket. Not that anyone really seemed to notice or care. _Pathetic_.

Mustang breathed in the cool evening air that hit him in the face when he stepped outside. Ever since his little incident with the syndicate, he'd hated feeling confined, whether it was in his own home, his office or anywhere else… He put his hands deep in his overcoat pockets and walked briskly, wanting to get home quickly in case he had another assignment. Venomously, he almost hoped he would have to kill one of those fools from the bar.

He hadn't gotten far when his well-developed instincts told him that something was off. It felt like someone was watching him or following him – or both. The streets weren't completely dark yet, for the sun was still setting, but there were still plenty of shadows cast in almost every corner. There could be anyone hiding, anywhere.

At once, Raven completely took over his mind and body_. Let me handle this_, he whispered. _Just sit back and enjoy the show, Roy-boy_. He automatically fell into a comfortable fighting stance and took in every detail of his surroundings. There were so many possible hiding spots… Perhaps he was overreacting? _No. Raven never overreacts_. There was definitely something watching.

As soon as the gunshot rang out, Roy – Raven – had already ducked and dived for cover. Several more shots came in succession; Raven had chosen to stay concealed by a telephone pole for the moment. He knew that he couldn't stay for long, however; the bullets were already blasting away at the concrete. Taking a quick glance up, Raven saw the bright discharge coming from about two stories up. Judging by the quick and merciless fashion in which this gun was being fired, this was definitely a professional gunman, yet Raven could tell that it was no sniper. He knew the incredible accuracy a sniper should have, but it wasn't here. If this was a sniper, he would already be dead by now.

Suddenly, it was quiet. Raven let out a slow breath. He reached into his pocket, drew out his pocketknife – at the same time he heard a _thump_ of someone landing on soft-soled boots. His attacker had come down for him. He suddenly desperately wished that he had a gun. Instead, he saw something that might serve him even better at the moment – several rusty poles, leaning on a nearby brick wall. With his gloved hand, he reached for one. Gripped it tightly, feeling its firm weight in his hand, its roughness – his muscles tensed as he prepared to strike.

All the while, Roy Mustang wondered what the hell this was all about.

**TBC**


End file.
